


are you nasty?

by jonphaedrus



Series: What Does M.T. Stand For Anyway? [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Memes, and for that: i apologise, if you catch the bananas joke chances are you know me and are deeply ashamed of me, no betas we die like men, team bonding exercises, this is very highly stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: 16875442388: Can you please check the dresser drawer.16875442388: Are my red jogging shorts in there?Ardyn L. C. Izunia: uhhh……………slime manArdyn L. C. Izunia: yes why……………slime manArdyn L. C. Izunia: arent you already at lestallum?……………slime man16875442388: Well,Ardyn L. C. Izunia: ???……………slime man16875442388: [attachment.png]Ardyn L. C. Izunia: :-)……………slime man16875442388: Guess I’m stuck with it now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post.](https://floweringeclipse.tumblr.com/post/159246083258/marshal-cor-the-nasty-immortal-leonis)

16875442388: Can you please check the dresser drawer.  
16875442388: Are my red jogging shorts in there?  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: uhhh……………slime man  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: yes why……………slime man  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: arent you already at lestallum?……………slime man  
16875442388: Well,  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: ???……………slime man  
16875442388: [attachment.png]  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: :-)……………slime man  
16875442388: Guess I’m stuck with it now.  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: oops hehe……………slime man  
16875442388: Let’s see how long it takes someone to realise.  
16875442388: These are a little loose.  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: cor leonis are you calling me fat? I’m? Hurt? Single? Heartbroken?……………slime man  
16875442388: Oh for fuck’s sake, Ardyn.

 

 

Prompto was so nervous he couldn’t stop hopping from foot to foot and fidgeting with every part of his body he could reach. It was a super chilly morning for early May, and he kept rubbing his naked calves, trying to warm up and wishing he hadn’t worn shorts for this morning jog. Then, whenever his nervous sweat got to the point it was driving him crazy, he’d slide a finger under the band of his sports bra and snap it to make it stop itching like a bitch.

Gladio elbowed him, hard, in the side. “Dude,” the other man hissed, “Calm down. You’re gonna vibrate out of your skin at this rate.” Prompto inhaled, and counted backwards from ten as he exhaled. “The Marshal likes you and you’re in the Crownsguard my dad wouldn’tve said you could come if he like, didn’t. Think you could come?” Gladio scratched the back of his neck. “You’ll be fine. And keep up. And stuff.”

“Good morning!” Both boys looked around as Monica came huffing over to them, dressed to jog, a bag slung over her shoulder. She’d pinned her hair up with a headband and about eight barrettes and she looked way more excited to go jogging at five in the morning than she had any right to be. “How you feeling, Prompto?”

“Nervous,” he managed at last, his voice cracking an octave higher than it had in years. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the Marshal, you know?”

Monica laughed. “Well, don’t worry about it. Chances are we’ll all have made fools of ourselves by the end of the weekend. Cor most of all.” Prompto didn’t say anything, but, he’d never seen the Marshal anything but unfailingly, disgustingly serious. “Speaking of, anyone seen him?”

“Ran off with my dad a while back,” Gladio replied, a hand shading his eyes from the sunrise. “They said something about getting a good wake-up going and dragged Iris with them.” Monica pursed her lips, and shook her head.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast, then.” She wandered off, waving to Dustin and Dave, chatting with the assembled various Crownsguard. Prompto went to go find some granola or something to try and calm his stomach, still pretty overwhelmed, and had finally managed to relax the knot of metal that had replaced his stomach when voices approached, laughing, and out from a copse of trees came Clarus Amicitia in an undershirt and basketball shorts and sneakers, Iris piggyback, and with him the Marshal in a Kingsglaive t-shirt from a few years of coffeeshop runs ago and a pair of red jogger shorts.

The two men came to a halt in the middle of the breakfast gathering and Cor fell into parade rest, hands folded behind his back, as Clarus dropped Iris gently off of his back and shoved her off to get food. “Good morning, Crownsguard!” Cor said, his voice carrying. He sounded a little too much like a drill sergeant for Prompto’s comfort.

He kinda was, but. Uh. Still.

Several people waved and said good morning, and Cor, his face as unreadably stoic as ever, gestured everyone over. “Fall in,” he said, and everyone gathered up, looking various shades of chipper or miserable depending on how much they enjoyed being awake. “I hope you’re all ready for a five mile jog.”

This time, it was all groans. “It’ll be my eighth mile of the day so you can all stop being so whiny about it.” Cor crossed his arms. “If Clarus can do it with a thirteen year old on his back at his age, you can all do it too.”

“You calling your superior officer old, Marshal Leonis?” Clarus heckled him back, and Cor grinned at him.

“You are old, Clarus.” Someone booed.

“Want to fight me and see who wins?”

“You cheat,” Cor replied. “All right, everyone. Let’s stretch and get to work.” It was only after fifteen minutes of stretching that Cor turned around to lead them on the jog, and when he did turn around, Prompto choked on the water he was drinking out of his water bottle so hard it went up the back of his throat, into his sinuses, and out his nose with burning pressure, leaving his eyes watering and him coughing so hard Gladio started pounding on his back.

Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Crownsguard, Lucian war hero, one of the best living fighters, widely considered a tactical genius, about as humours and funny as a stone—was in.

His red jogging shorts had _are you nasty?_ printed on the back.

“Are you _serious_?” Prompto squeaked, hacking the rest of the water up. Cor turned around after a moment and cocked one dark eyebrow at him, hand balanced on his hip.

“Something wrong, Argentum?”

“No, sir!” Prompto whimpered, shaking in his shoes. “Not in the slightest, sir!” Cor nodded.

“Good.”

He jogged off like there was nothing at all wrong.

Ohhhhhh no.

 

 

The following twenty-four hours were like something out of a sitcom. Nobody could look away. When it came time for dinner in the mess tent, there was a horrified whispered conversation between Clarus and Monica huddled around Gladio and Iris about whether or not Cor had any idea that he was wearing _are you nasty?_ shorts because sources said: probably not. He hadn’t noticed all day, and he acted like nothing had been out of the ordinary while they were at dinner. Just...continued. Normally. Totally normally. Like he hadn’t walked up with _are you nasty?_ shorts.

The following morning, he showed up in the shorts again. “Uh,” Dustin said, very surreptitiously not-looking-at-Cor’s ass, “Same shorts two days in a row, Cor?”

“We have a washing machine,” Cor pointed out. “And I only brought one pair. Why, Dustin, is there something wrong with them?” He looked genuinely _concerned,_ his blue eyes wide with surprise.

Monica narrowed her eyes. But said nothing.

Dustin back-pedalled almost immediately. “Oh, no,” he laughed, awkwardly. “Nothing wrong with them. Just. Surprised you didn’t bring another pair, actually. You’re usually hyper-prepared.”

Cor took a swig off of his water bottle. Casually capped it. Shrugged a shoulder.

“You know how it is, Dustin—not much you can do if you get out of town late because of a last-minute quickie.”

Dustin stared.

 

 

Prompto was certain of only one thing: Cor Leonis had absolutely no idea that his shorts said _are you nasty?_ on the ass. He wore them with absolute ease, and even when the King showed up with Noctis, looking absolutely miserable and attempting to let his sweatshirt ( _clearly_ stolen from Gladio) swallow up his body, Cor didn’t blink.

“Nice shorts,” Regis said, laughing. He was the only one who came close enough to saying it outright. Cor grinned easily back.

“They’re a little loose; I think they’re Ardyn’s. But plenty good for jogging.”

“I was about to say that red is a little _maroon_ for your usual taste in clothes.” The King paused. “Clearly, though, you’ve got a thing for putting your dick in extremely tacky things of that particular shade of raspberry.”

“Ew!” Iris had shrieked. Cor had laughed.

Immediately after, the King came over, glanced at Clarus’ face, and then nodded. “He has no idea, does he?”

“No,” Clarus had replied after a moment. “We’re still not sure if he’s faking it or not.”

“I’ve known Cor Leonis since he was ten godsdam years old and he couldn’t lie that well if you paid him to.” The King shook his head. “He hasn’t got a clue. Those are _definitely_ Ardyn’s, I bought them for him as a gag gift a couple years ago.”

“Okay, but,” Noctis had followed his father over, and was squashing himself sweatshirt and all into Prompto’s side, trying to pull the side over his head and suck him into the endless vacuum and void that was any piece of clothing Gladio owned (he preferred loose clothes so it was all a size or two up and he was already fucking huge), “ _Is_ the Marshal nasty?”

The resulting pause was absolutely horrifying.

“Monica would know,” Clarus settled on at last.

 

 

“Marshal, about your shorts...”

“You sure you want to wear those to dinner in town, Marshal?”

“Don’t you think those are a little, you know...”

Nobody could fucking come out and say it. Seventy-two hours of _are you nasty?_ and nobody could say, your shorts say _are you nasty?_ on the ass. It was just so completely baffling that Cor _didn’t know_ , and Monica and Dave had already weighed in and agreed that he definitely had no idea.

“He really likes them,” Dave admitted, swirling a whey shake that afternoon as they took a break from obstacle courses. “He keeps telling me how them being a little looser than normal means they pull on his thigh hair less. Which is good, I guess? But fucking weird as shit.”

“Monica,” Prompto said, seizing, as they said, the day, “I was wondering?”

She paused, looked up from her plate of carrots. “I don’t,” said the deputy, warily, “like the way you’re going.” Prompto hesitated. “You look like His Royal Highness does before he does something _stupid._ ”

Prompto winced.

Yeah, he was picking up too many mannerisms from Noctis.

“Mr. Amicitia said you’d know but... _is_ the Marshal nasty?”

Monica stared at him, and Prompto could see her life flashing before her eyes. She shuddered, all over, from her toes to her scalp.

“ _Bananas,_ ” she whispered, and Prompto decided he wanted to know zero things further about that. “The fucking _bananas_.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he settled on magnanimously. And hoped after this weekend, he would never see the godsdam shorts again.

 

 

16875442388: They think I don’t know.  
16875442388: I guess I’ve finally learned to lie.  
16875442388: I can honestly say nobody has ever stared at my ass as much as everyone I know has stared at my ass over the last three days.  
16875442388: [attachment.png] [attachment.png]  
16875442388: [attachment.png]  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: well its not like I can BLAME them lol!!!……………slime man  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: I stare at your ass 24/7/365……………slime man  
16875442388: You’re disgusting?  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: yes but……………slime man  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: am I nasty? ;-)……………slime man  
16875442388: You made me late for my own damn group retreat because you made me facefuck you while you loaded the dishwasher.  
16875442388: Because, and I quote:  
16875442388: “I’d like a salty snack but we’re all out of chips.”  
16875442388: So yes, I think you’re probably nasty.  
Ardyn L. C. Izunia: ;-)))……………slime man

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr and twitter @jonphaedrus


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